


Life Like An Ocean

by soncnica



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Abuse Of Clichés, Angst and Humor, Archeologist Jared, Assistant Jensen, Friendship, Gen, Hurt Jensen, Hurt/Comfort, Language, Mention of torture, Sidekick Jensen, Thief Jared
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-02
Updated: 2014-03-02
Packaged: 2018-01-14 08:09:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1259125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soncnica/pseuds/soncnica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jared's an archeologist/thief and Jensen's been his assistant/sidekick for only three years and he's already getting an ulcer. On top of a nervous breakdown. On top of this being the best time of his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Life Like An Ocean

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: I own nothing and I'm sorry for any grammar/spelling mistakes you might find.

Harvard, _not Hogwarts, come on Jared, you serious?... Deadly!_ is especially beautiful in the Fall, but Jensen never gets a chance to see it, because Jared always leaves his classes to his other assistant, _really Chad? He teaches your students to sniff for weed in pots!... Yeah, very useful skill, Jens!_ and drags Jensen to spend his Falls...

"Woooohooooo!"

… riding a jeep through the Sahara. Now, Jensen doesn't know why Jared has this obsession with being in the Sahara every Fall, but he's already forming a plan to stop this madness. Because the first year it had been Egypt and almost drowning in the Nile, then the second year it had been Mali and a broken leg, and now they are running from Chad's secret police, because apparently they have this thing about being robbed. Who knew?

And yes, there is a country called Chad which pisses him to no end, because no country should have a name the same as that douchebag, and no, he didn't know that it has a secret police.

Just comes to show... that Jared really should start working on his whole ''pissing everyone off'' vibe he has going on. Or you know... stop stealing stuff.

The jeep they had stolen - don't ask - in front of a shaky aaaaand shady looking house has its front tires a bit askew; he's praying that the wheels won't fall off, please, please, please, because he doesn't want to get caught and tortured… not today. It's too beautiful a day to get his knees knocked out. Or his fingers broken. Or his back whipped. Really.

The jeep's seats are torn apart and there's urine-yellow stuffing looking out from the cuts and he's ignoring the crazy, crazy idea that's going through his head that the red on the stuffing is blood. Because it's not. It's ketchup. And he's sticking with that. And beside them being ripped and ketchup-y, they're bouncy and soft too, pushing his intestines up into his throat every time the jeep hits a rock or a tiny bush and seriously, if he'll hit his head one more time on the roof, he'll pass out from bleeding into his brain; there's probably a fancy word for that, but the headache isn't really helping him think right now.

But Jared's havin' a blast. Typical. While he's almost ripping his pants apart with the strength he's clutching at the fabric, Jared's laughin' and yellin' something about loving this whole thing.

Awesome. When he took this job he had no idea that his boss was an adrenaline junkie. With shivers and all when the man has to sit in his, admittedly stuffy and small, office for too long - and by too long he means two hours. Yup, shivers and all. Even puking. That's why Jared's office has two waste baskets in it.

And there's sand, sand, sand and more sand all around them even in places it has no business being. Like in his underwear, sticking to the sweat in his ass crack.

Itchy son of a bitch.

"You better hold on to that box, man!"

Jared's deep voice, when it reaches his ear through the rush of wind and the sound of the engine, reminds him of this excited little kid that got what he really, really wanted. 's cute.

He smiles, but hides it under: "Just drive you moron!"

He spits some sand out of his mouth and swears to silence, because sand crunching between his teeth is a) not fun and b) just reminds him that he's hungry as hell.

And he's burning up. Next Fall, they are going to Antarctica, damn it.

-:-

"Jump, you asshole!"

They're standing on solid ground, but just a few feet away from them, the solid ground disappears into a very, very deep fall. He can hear the sea hit the rocks. He can feel the sun burning his skin, creating freckles by the minute. He can feel the adrenaline, he can feel the fear. He can feel the salty wind coming up from the ocean.

"What the...? 'm not jumping, you crazy?"  
  
Jared's eyes are huge and he's sweating buckets; like shiny rivers of sweat running down his face and neck and his brown shirt is soaked, just like his long hair. 's disgusting, 's what it is.

"For Christ sake, jump!"

It's Germans after them this time. Germans who ate way too much sauerkraut and sausages. Really, Jensen saw their bellies first and after that came their fat faces, but damnit they had guns. With like real bullets in them. And they were shooting at them. Okay, okay they were lousy shots sure - all that grease in their veins messing up their aim, probably - but stray bullets have killed more people than other kinda bullets, and yes, he's making this up, but... there were bullets flying over his head.

"Jump, Jensen!"

Before he can answer that with a very dignified _fuck you, Jared!_ he feels Jared's huge paw on his shoulder and the paw's pushing. The son of a bitch is pushing at him and he is strong and yup, Jared just pushed him off the edge of the cliff. Literally.

"Fuuuuuuuck!"

The water, when it hits him, is cold, salty and too wet for his liking. And when it invades his ears, nose, eyes and mouth his only thought is... Jared, that son of a bitch!

-:-

"I can't believe you dropped it!"

He's watching Jared push up the sleeves of his dirty brown shirt, way up to the bend of his elbows, pacing up and down his small office…

"It was a stick man..."

… picking up a pot here, a statue there, a book, a leaf of paper, stumbling after hitting a pile of books with his foot…

"... no, see... it was The Stick!"

… and when Jared turns to look at him, really look at him with those eyes, intense eyes, he squirms in the chair. It's just too intense.

"Uhhh, I know, I know, but look, it's long gone now, the currents probably took it out to the sea, to the little fishies to play with and all is good, because that was the point anyways."

"What? To give fishies a new toy?"

"No, to hide the stick."

"Oh, so you admit it's The Stick now?"

He frowns, because even if Jared is crazy smart, his logic is sometimes really, really weird.

"What?"

"Nevermind."

Jared's office is a mess... you move one thing and everything falls apart. The same goes with the artifacts they _cough_ collect _cough_. You loose one lousy stick and everything falls apart.

Jensen sighs.

-:-

"I hate you so much right now."

He's glaring at Jared, he knows he is, but he can't help it. He's pissed and it's all Jared's fault. His boss up or down, he's pissed.

"No, you don't."

"Jared, look at me and tell me if I'm not."

"Uh, okay, uh… okay, look we'll get out of here, we will. So just… stop being angry at me and help me figure our way out."

"Jared we are in a cave. The entrance's blocked and unless you have some laser eyes or somethin', we're screwed."

"Laser eyes?"

And then Jared laughs. And laughs. And if Jensen's ankle wasn't sprained he'd get up from the mossy floor and knock Jared's lights out. He would.

"Jared, don't make me angrier."

"Oh man, okay, okay. Sorry." 's funny when Jared's coming down from his laugh attacks, his voice is always an octave higher than usual.

"You done?"

"Mhm, yeah… all laughed out."

"Great."

How did they get out of that cave? Well the Indians always had a back door ready. Probably just in case some morons in the future would get locked inside the caves. Yeah, smart those Indians.

-:-

"So, so tell me Jensen, how come you wanted this job, huh?"

"'mnuhnow…"

"Don't know?"

"mmmh, naw."

"Okay, okay, you regretting it, huh?"

"Nuh-uh."

"'s that a no? Jensen, 's that a no?"

"Mhm."

"Good, great. Come on work with me here, man. What day is it today?"

"Day?"

"Day."

"Duhno."

"No?"

"You know where we are?"

Are? They are somewhere? No. He's home. Soft. Safe. Smells rotten. Dark. 's dark. 's Jared? Are? Yes, they are. Plane? Car. Long. Sun, so much. Fuck.

"You'll be fine. You'll be just fine."

He believes. Because it's Jared.

-:-

He still wakes up sweaty and gasping some nights. Every night. But not in winter's though. Winters aren't as hot as it had been then. Then when they had been captured, drugged, and the assholes broke his left hand and all the fingers on his right hand. They had left Jared untouched. Just made him watch.

Jared had said: "No one said this would be easy, man."

And he had rasped: "No one told me it would be this hard, either." and maybe, sort of, kinda sobbed. He was in pain, shut up.

He's still haunted by that week. It had been late April in a country he doesn't want to name, all because of one stupid ring. With a huge diamond, sure, but come on. A ring.

-:-

"Jensen, wake up, hey, hey, hey. Come on."

"Wha...?"

"Hey, you okay, man?"

"Nuuuhhh..."

Everything is a blur, foggy as hell, but Jared's face is clear as crystal, which just proves how much his brain hates him. Jared's always the sharpest, clearest image and everything around him is always just fog.

He hates his brain and hates himself for ever taking the job of being Jared's assistant/sidekick/something/whatever/dunnohowtoclassify/at least the job pays good. Sure Jared is the best goddamn _cough_ archeologist _cough_ in the goddamn world but man, enough is enough. After only three years of being Jared's assistant/sidekick, he's already getting an ulcer. On top of a nervous breakdown, because apparently being under stress every day isn't okay. And having adrenaline run through his veins every day isn't okay either.

"You good?"

"Yeah, think so."

"You asshole, you scared the crap out of me."

The slap to his cheek is totally unexpected and totally severs that thin thread of consciousness he had going on there. But just for a second, because Jared's hands are hot and clammy and strong and sure and he's pulled up from the floor and put on his shaky feet.

And Jared's grinning at him.

That stupid asshole.

"Get up ya wuss."

Jared's laugh is a very booming, bright thing...

"'m up, 'm up."

.. and doesn't go well with his I-just-ate-gravel kinda voice.

"Good, now stop fainting on me, okay? I need you here and ready to run."

"I didn't faint."

"Uh, yeah you came down like a house of cards."

He didn't faint, he tripped on a damn tree root, hit his head and fell asleep for a little while, that's all. Jeez.

He's just about to tell all that to the smug bastard that's still grinning at him, but is interrupted by some shouting coming from the thick trees.

Freakin' Russians with their creepy vodka obsession.

Now, Cambodia isn't a dangerous place, not really, but when you have three huge Russians high on vodka chasing you around... well you tend to think about things. Mainly, why the hell would Russians even be in Cambodia?

And goddamn Jared always getting them in trouble like this.

-:-

"We got 'em, didn't we?"

"Sure did."

He puts his feet on Jared's desk, puts some mud on papers that are scattered all over the maybe, probably wooden desk, he can't be sure, because in all the years working with Jared, he never actually saw the desk, hell, maybe it wasn't a desk at all, but just a very huge stack of papers... and relaxes back into the chair.

It's comfy. It's safe. And after hiding near the Mekong River for seven days, with a maybe cursed object that had been giving him a hernia alongside his ulcer... it's dry too.

"Want some vodka to celebrate?"

"Vodka? You shitting me?"

"Hey, if it works for the Russians..."

"I'll pass."

"Suit yourself. Now, get your feet off my desk, we're off to Mongolia in," eyes to watch, "three hours."

Yes, Jared might be, well all kinda things and this job might be all kinda things too, but to be honest... he's having the best, freakin' time of his life. Even if he's plagued by nightmares, even if he had been stabbed, shot at, had his leg, fingers, arm broken, had scrapes all over his body, had been thrown into things, down things, up things… this is the best, freakin' time of his life.

"I am NOT gonna sleep in a ger!"

"D'aww don't be like that."

"You snore."

"I do not!"

Best fuckin' time of his life.

**The End**


End file.
